guess you could say i read about it
i was reading lots of things in college
but really i don't know
slowly it slipped in
i let my guard down
left my mind open
and my heart expanded
Date: July 5, 2005 3:58:47 PM EDT
Monday, May 30, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
The Song of the Flame
There's something wonderful about stove top coffee
The gushing sound of the water pouring into the cup
A brief parting of the silence in the still of morning
Instant coffee foaming as it transforms from solid into liquid
The foam that comes from within, swirls to the top, and settles
resting
It is the process more than the outcome:
Rinsing the pot, filling it, lighting the range.
The gas sings a little
There's something about waking up
and that song played around the flame
it parallels my brain and the thoughts beginning to alight
But truly it is none of this
Though I appreciate all these things
They are story composed on top of feeling
That for so long I knew not how to explain
But I can tell you this:
There were sailing trips
With me and my dad
Just the two of us in a little boat
And we were close in feeling but rarely in words
these trips tended to close the gap
And I would wake to a small propane range
Singing it's little morning song through the flame
I having just stirred to the sounds in the galley of a pot being rinsed.
I would wait to hear the rumbles of the boiling water
Then sit up and watch my father
He would place a cup before me
and one where he would sit
and he would pour the coffee in my cup
the foam swirling to the top
And he would pour coffee in his cup
And that swirl would come to the top
And I had a feeling I could not explain
Except to say
I love stove top coffee in the still of morning
originally composed 2011 May ?
read at Art House 2011 May 5 with the title "Stove Top Coffee"
The gushing sound of the water pouring into the cup
A brief parting of the silence in the still of morning
Instant coffee foaming as it transforms from solid into liquid
The foam that comes from within, swirls to the top, and settles
resting
It is the process more than the outcome:
Rinsing the pot, filling it, lighting the range.
The gas sings a little
There's something about waking up
and that song played around the flame
it parallels my brain and the thoughts beginning to alight
But truly it is none of this
Though I appreciate all these things
They are story composed on top of feeling
That for so long I knew not how to explain
But I can tell you this:
There were sailing trips
With me and my dad
Just the two of us in a little boat
And we were close in feeling but rarely in words
these trips tended to close the gap
And I would wake to a small propane range
Singing it's little morning song through the flame
I having just stirred to the sounds in the galley of a pot being rinsed.
I would wait to hear the rumbles of the boiling water
Then sit up and watch my father
He would place a cup before me
and one where he would sit
and he would pour the coffee in my cup
the foam swirling to the top
And he would pour coffee in his cup
And that swirl would come to the top
And I had a feeling I could not explain
Except to say
I love stove top coffee in the still of morning
originally composed 2011 May ?
read at Art House 2011 May 5 with the title "Stove Top Coffee"
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Kiddush English translation
A year or so ago we were given the honor of saying the blessing over the wine
at a very happy occasion. We said the traditional Hebrew but wanted a
more modern English version so we slightly modified a version we
found online to read. Sharing just in case anyone else could use it.
Blessed is G-d
ruler of the universe
who has created the
fruit of the vine
at a very happy occasion. We said the traditional Hebrew but wanted a
more modern English version so we slightly modified a version we
found online to read. Sharing just in case anyone else could use it.
Blessed is G-d
ruler of the universe
who has created the
fruit of the vine
Monday, May 16, 2011
2 roads diverged in a yellow wood*
Consumed with thoughts from 3 in the morning
My mouth sometimes ran wild like my mind
Only hindered by my friend
Who said he didn't put much stock in thoughts of the night
Wait...until morning
It happens still
I sit awake
Snuggled closely with my love
But even in marriage we can be alone
Just for moments, but even in the best of company
we can be alone.
And I know it is the solution but i hate the thought of it
Wait...until morning
And though the fear is there
So to is an inspiration
A 3 am epiphany may scare the soul
question a lifetime.
Feeling so real, so novel, so right
and in that moment when you are sure it is genius
when you are ready to change it all
just remind yourself
in a still small voice
Wait...until morning
*"You have to be careful of that one; it's a tricky poem – very tricky."
-- Robert Frost on The Road Not Taken
originally composed 2011 May 4
read at Art House 2011 May 5
read at Symposia 2011 May 12
My mouth sometimes ran wild like my mind
Only hindered by my friend
Who said he didn't put much stock in thoughts of the night
Wait...until morning
It happens still
I sit awake
Snuggled closely with my love
But even in marriage we can be alone
Just for moments, but even in the best of company
we can be alone.
And I know it is the solution but i hate the thought of it
Wait...until morning
And though the fear is there
So to is an inspiration
A 3 am epiphany may scare the soul
question a lifetime.
Feeling so real, so novel, so right
and in that moment when you are sure it is genius
when you are ready to change it all
just remind yourself
in a still small voice
Wait...until morning
*"You have to be careful of that one; it's a tricky poem – very tricky."
-- Robert Frost on The Road Not Taken
originally composed 2011 May 4
read at Art House 2011 May 5
read at Symposia 2011 May 12
Sunday, May 15, 2011
my poetry
As one of my previous entries indicates, I have been doing a lot of thinking about who I am and what I am doing with my life. Over the past few years I have largely not been writing. From time to time during that period I have thought I was through the writer's block and celebrated a single work as a come back only to return to rarely picking up a pen and writing drivel when I did so.
Some serendipitous events recently brought me back to the pen. About a month ago changes at work had me wondering about the course of my career there (the restack, which I later came to terms with). I realized my life balance between work and writing had shifted so much that work was all I had. In the past both work and writing were significant parts in my life. If there was a dark cloud in one, I could step out from under it into the other. This helped me have a good attitude in both places in the past. But without writing, I was left in the rain.
Then, I saw Il Postino for the first time. Years ago I would have imagined myself as Neruda hoping to someday reach his stature, but I found I related to Mario and was envious of his ability to express the beauty in his small town. (I must admit that I was influenced by knowing the real life story of Massimo Troisi which was revealed in the DVD special features.) Finding my aspirations relating to Mario instead of Neruda reminded me how a high school English teacher said he found that as time went on when he read Jean Anouilh's Antigone he related more to Creon than Antigone. Still, what was important for my writing was that I saw the story of writing igniting the flame of life in someone at a time when I sought to stir the smoldering ashes in my writing life.
I realized that though I had always wanted to be a famous and critically acclaimed poet that maybe I could just be me. I could write without amazing ambition. Maybe I could just write for the poem and not for me. I was lucky enough to have a conversation some years back with David Amram (he did the music for one of Art House's productions plays) and he told me something that makes more and more sense to me as a life lesson: loose yourself in what you do, do what is best for the project, become part of what the group creates.
These realizations led me to pick up the pen now again and actually produce a few pieces that I could consider sharing. As I mentioned previously, I had tried to write a few times recently but maybe my aspirations blunted me, but whatever the case what I produced were just a collection of words on the paper, nothing worth repeating. However one night's insomnia led to my composing and the success of that writing led me to picking up the pen again.
A few days later I went to see a friend's one person play. To see an artist delve into a new medium (it was her first time acting per se) with such success was inspiring. Afterwords a mutual friend encouraged me to read at the next Art House open mic and I returned to the mic a couple days later.
But there was one more realization to be had. All these year's I had been saving my poems for The Collected Works of Bill Rood but now I was resigned to write for the poem's sake and not my fame. So I realized I might as well put the poems up on my blog and not keep them caged up at home--let them out to meet new people. After all, this is about them not me.
I've decided to try to publish a poem a week on this blog. In keeping with my new thoughts on it being about the work and not me (again inspired by David Amram) I decided to publish with a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike license. I'll schedule them to post on Mondays at 7 PM EST. I have two new works scheduled and if I am unable to come up with new ones I will present older ones.
One thing to realize about my poetry is that typically I write for performance, so some of the conventions on the page are meant more to guide my performance. Also, another quirk is that I write at the end of the poems where I have performed them and when. I've always tried to not reread a poem at the same reading so back when I was active this became a necessary convention.
So what's left is for me to be me and compose little written creations. I hope you enjoy.
Some serendipitous events recently brought me back to the pen. About a month ago changes at work had me wondering about the course of my career there (the restack, which I later came to terms with). I realized my life balance between work and writing had shifted so much that work was all I had. In the past both work and writing were significant parts in my life. If there was a dark cloud in one, I could step out from under it into the other. This helped me have a good attitude in both places in the past. But without writing, I was left in the rain.
Then, I saw Il Postino for the first time. Years ago I would have imagined myself as Neruda hoping to someday reach his stature, but I found I related to Mario and was envious of his ability to express the beauty in his small town. (I must admit that I was influenced by knowing the real life story of Massimo Troisi which was revealed in the DVD special features.) Finding my aspirations relating to Mario instead of Neruda reminded me how a high school English teacher said he found that as time went on when he read Jean Anouilh's Antigone he related more to Creon than Antigone. Still, what was important for my writing was that I saw the story of writing igniting the flame of life in someone at a time when I sought to stir the smoldering ashes in my writing life.
I realized that though I had always wanted to be a famous and critically acclaimed poet that maybe I could just be me. I could write without amazing ambition. Maybe I could just write for the poem and not for me. I was lucky enough to have a conversation some years back with David Amram (he did the music for one of Art House's productions plays) and he told me something that makes more and more sense to me as a life lesson: loose yourself in what you do, do what is best for the project, become part of what the group creates.
These realizations led me to pick up the pen now again and actually produce a few pieces that I could consider sharing. As I mentioned previously, I had tried to write a few times recently but maybe my aspirations blunted me, but whatever the case what I produced were just a collection of words on the paper, nothing worth repeating. However one night's insomnia led to my composing and the success of that writing led me to picking up the pen again.
A few days later I went to see a friend's one person play. To see an artist delve into a new medium (it was her first time acting per se) with such success was inspiring. Afterwords a mutual friend encouraged me to read at the next Art House open mic and I returned to the mic a couple days later.
But there was one more realization to be had. All these year's I had been saving my poems for The Collected Works of Bill Rood but now I was resigned to write for the poem's sake and not my fame. So I realized I might as well put the poems up on my blog and not keep them caged up at home--let them out to meet new people. After all, this is about them not me.
I've decided to try to publish a poem a week on this blog. In keeping with my new thoughts on it being about the work and not me (again inspired by David Amram) I decided to publish with a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike license. I'll schedule them to post on Mondays at 7 PM EST. I have two new works scheduled and if I am unable to come up with new ones I will present older ones.
One thing to realize about my poetry is that typically I write for performance, so some of the conventions on the page are meant more to guide my performance. Also, another quirk is that I write at the end of the poems where I have performed them and when. I've always tried to not reread a poem at the same reading so back when I was active this became a necessary convention.
So what's left is for me to be me and compose little written creations. I hope you enjoy.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
On the Wings of the Phoenix
The phoenix you are expecting tonight
was just a bird before becoming ashes and dust.
Ashes like me, dust like you.
The phoenix itself was just a bird
and it had to fail to become a story.
That is, if it’s true that death is a story
or if it’s true that death is failure
if it’s true that death is anything at all.
The story of the phoenix tells us
that which can burn always has hope.
The phoenix was just a story, a myth
but in so many retellings it is alive.
Either reborn or never having died.
A life is just a story
and a life remembered sounds like myth
creating the moment and space
to be reborn in many retellings.
They say that which reaches too high
will fall from the sky.
Like the boy or the bird
and the wings that burnt.
But those same stories say
from the flames of the sun
the boy Icarus became an ocean;
the phoenix bird never died.
The hero you is just a myth with a thousand faces
retelling the story that anything can fly.
You are mainly water
but there’s hope --
you can still burn
originally digitized 2008 May 3
edits on 2008 May 12
read at Rebirth, part of the Cathedral Arts Festival 2008
was just a bird before becoming ashes and dust.
Ashes like me, dust like you.
The phoenix itself was just a bird
and it had to fail to become a story.
That is, if it’s true that death is a story
or if it’s true that death is failure
if it’s true that death is anything at all.
The story of the phoenix tells us
that which can burn always has hope.
The phoenix was just a story, a myth
but in so many retellings it is alive.
Either reborn or never having died.
A life is just a story
and a life remembered sounds like myth
creating the moment and space
to be reborn in many retellings.
They say that which reaches too high
will fall from the sky.
Like the boy or the bird
and the wings that burnt.
But those same stories say
from the flames of the sun
the boy Icarus became an ocean;
the phoenix bird never died.
The hero you is just a myth with a thousand faces
retelling the story that anything can fly.
You are mainly water
but there’s hope --
you can still burn
originally digitized 2008 May 3
edits on 2008 May 12
read at Rebirth, part of the Cathedral Arts Festival 2008
untitled poem
I’m going through a time
which one might say
that’s all life is
and I’m trying to accept
that I can try
even though maybe I won’t
be a superstar.
See for a lifetime
I had to be famous
if I was going to try
if I would bother to live
but now
maybe it is ok
to try
but just be
just succeed to be ... me
originally composed 2011 May ?
read at Art House 2011 May 5
which one might say
that’s all life is
and I’m trying to accept
that I can try
even though maybe I won’t
be a superstar.
See for a lifetime
I had to be famous
if I was going to try
if I would bother to live
but now
maybe it is ok
to try
but just be
just succeed to be ... me
originally composed 2011 May ?
read at Art House 2011 May 5
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